


The Beast Inside

by dozmuffinxc



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-08
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-28 14:03:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/675212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dozmuffinxc/pseuds/dozmuffinxc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor and River are forced to face some hard truths when River nearly manages to kill the Doctor (again).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home Again

When the Doctor had sprung River from Stormcage for a late-night adventure, he certainly hadn’t anticipated being very nearly digested by an overgrown and remarkably surly Amphibamtra. Of course, there was little that could be called “predictable” when it came to running about the universe with River Song, so really, his current situation could hardly be viewed as surprising. As they sprinted together to where he was (almost) certain they had left the TARDIS, he beamed at his tousle-haired companion who, in return, flashed him a slightly-manic smile which he recognized to be her unique stamp of Pond approval.

Out of breath and aching from the run (really, he _was_ getting old), the Doctor slammed the door of the TARDIS shut behind them and turned to get his first good look at River since she had blasted open the stomach of the Amphibamtra who had determined to make him a meal and managed to – literally – pull him from the jaws of death. Despite this messy rescue, River herself was virtually unscathed: aside from a slight misting of gunpowder on her cheek, her hip-hugging pants and becoming black blouse were immaculate. She stood a few feet away, smiling at him in a dangerously alluring manner, tucking an errant curl behind her ear and seeming to derive no end of pleasure from his scrutiny.

“I should be very cross with you, you know,” the Doctor quipped, doing his best to maintain the air of a much wronged man.

“But you aren’t,” she replied, leaning casually against the TARDIS console. He noticed her fingers working beside her on the control board, caressing the varied knobs and buttons with a familiarity that made him almost jealous.

“What, in the name of Rassilon, made you think that it was a good idea to offer yourself up as the emperor of Axalanthis IX’s concubine?!”

“Oh, honestly,” River _tsk-ed_ playfully, “how was I supposed to know he was the first in his dynasty to take a vow of monogamy? It’s practically unheard of in Axalanthi culture. Besides,” she added, a mischievous glint setting her gray eyes to sparkling, “your _diplomatic_ approach to a peace treaty was hardly a raging success.”

The Doctor was finding it harder and harder to maintain a stern face.

“You broke at least ten of the laws of Intergalactic Civic Obedience…”

“Oh, eleven, at least…”

“… insulted the proconsul of Axalanthis in no less than three alien languages…”

“I rather thought he was impressed.”

“…and very nearly shot my head off!”

“While saving your life! How’s that for gratitude?”

Crossing the few metres of space between them, the Doctor leaned beside her against the console and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“I’m beginning to think you are a very bad influence, Melody Pond,” he said.

That was all the invitation she needed.

She did not seem to care in the least that he was covered in slime and smelled like the bottom of a Dothori cosmic garbage pit. In fact, she seemed to derive an inordinate amount of pleasure out of the shocked look on his face as she grabbed both sides of his grimy, entrails-coated face and planted a firm and lingering kiss on his protesting lips. Being covered in the viscera of an alien warlord took an easy backseat to being snogged by River Song, and the Doctor lost no time in forgetting how very unappealing he looked as she eased her body against his and lessened the pressure on his lips so that he could return the sentiment with a series of well-placed kisses along the side of her neck.

Several minutes later, however, and the stench had really become too great to ignore.

“Must… shower,” he panted, extricating his hands from their current lodging (several centimetres deep in her mass of curls).

The Doctor laughed at the dramatic pout on his companion’s face, and as he led the way down the hallway towards the set of rooms that the TARDIS had designed for his own particular use, she made a grand show of refusing his hand. The look in her eyes when she did steal a glance, however, did not escape him. It was the same look he had seen there countless times before (and would undoubtedly see countless times in the future) and it was the same look he saw in the mirror whenever he cared to use one: a look that said _Not enough time. Never enough time._

Once in his bedroom, she sunk luxuriously onto his bed and followed his progress to the wash room with an inviting smile.

“Don’t be long, sweetie.”

He threw her a wink and closed the door behind him, but not fast enough to keep from seeing her seductive grin turn down into a frown that nearly stopped his hearts.


	2. What Dreams May Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It was amazing how fast she had incapacitated him, and if the Doctor could have spared a thought to do so, he would have marveled at the power of her muscles as she used her hips to trap him, immobile, against the bed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always wondered in what ways River's early training in the "mercenary arts" would manifest themselves around the Doctor who she had practically been programmed to kill on sight. No matter how strong-willed she might be, could she ever completely throw that off? So this evolved!

The Doctor pulled on a blue robe as he stepped out of the roomy shower. Much like the TARDIS herself, the shower was bigger on the inside and housed not only a bench for relaxing mid-wash, but also a full-size fountain that dispensed both jets of fresh water as well as spurts of shampoo in varying scents and colors. Feeling remarkably better now that he was clean and refreshed, he pushed open the door to his bedroom wondering what sort of mischief River had managed to get herself into while he’d been indulging in his bath.

It was with no small degree of surprise that he found the woman herself sprawled out on his bed, hair a-tumble and legs askew, apparently fast asleep. Through their various misadventures and brushes with death, the Doctor had hardly ever seen River pause for more than a few seconds together, let alone sleep. The experience was jarring, and as he settled himself gently onto the edge of the bed, he was struck by how vulnerable she looked. Even in sleep, however, tiny creases of worry knit her brow and the Doctor felt a stab of pain in the middle of his chest as he wondered how many of those creases he was responsible for.

As if she could sense his discomfort, River moaned in her sleep. It was then that he noticed her shoulders shaking ever so slightly and the tightness of her fist, resting on the pillow by her head, knuckles white from the strain of clenching her fingers into her palm.

“River,” he said, alarm making his voice louder than he intended. Still, she didn’t wake and the Doctor could hear the hum of the TARDIS whispering a warning in his ear. Ignoring it, he reached out to shake her into consciousness, only to find himself inexplicably on his back with her hands around his neck.

The pain registered next. She was straddling his hips with her legs, using the full force of her upper body to press against his windpipe so that he had to struggle to breathe. It was amazing how fast she had incapacitated him, and if the Doctor could have spared a thought to do so, he would have marveled at the power of her muscles as she used her hips to trap him, immobile, against the bed. All attempts to throw her off proved futile, and when the Doctor raised his eyes to plead silently with his assassin-turned-lover, he was stopped short by the look of pure, untempered hatred etched in every shadow of her face.

“R-river,” he managed to choke between gasps for air, but she didn’t seem to hear him.

It was the hum of the TARDIS that saved him. In some far corner of his consciousness, he detected the strains of a Gallifreyan lullaby pulsing through the air, and he knew that they are being directed at her. The sound reached her in an instant and the effect was immediate.

A shudder passed through her body as though she were throwing off a great weight, and her face cleared as she took in the sight of his prone form and pained grimace, her hands still clenched around his throat. A horrible sound issued from her own throat as she released him, and for a moment he thought she might be sick. When he reached out to steady her, she shrank from his touch and before he could call her back, she had leapt from the bed and left him alone in the room to call out her name in the sudden, unnerving silence.


	3. With Words to Heal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and River have some talking to do.

It didn’t take long to find her. The sound of something being thoroughly pummeled drifted down the hallway and led the Doctor towards the door of what he vaguely remembered to have been a gym. He could have sworn it was erased at least three regenerations ago, but it seemed the TARDIS had been able to dredge it up from her archives for River’s use. He gathered his breath before easing the door open, slowly and quietly, and he paused on the threshold to watch his wife demolishing a suspiciously Dalek-shaped punching bag. As the mechanism emitted a groan and crashed to the floor in tatters, River spun around to aim what would surely have been a bone-shattering kick to a nearby pommel horse and she saw him watching her.

“That,” she spat, throwing a pointed look at the ruined punching bag, “could have been you.”

“But it wasn’t! River…”

But he said the wrong thing, because the words had hardly settled before she launched herself over the pommel horse and put an entire display of barbells between them.

“You don’t understand,” she yelled, her voice reaching a dangerously high pitch that he’d never heard from her before. “Don’t you have any idea what I am? What I could do to you? I never thought the great Doctor could be so damned foolish.”

“River,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm. 

He knew this wasn’t about him; he could see the fear in her eyes, and the waves of psychic energy pouring off her body were tainted by terror. He attempted to combat it with peaceful thoughts, but her pique was like a shield repelling any influence he might have had otherwise. When he tried to come closer, she threw her hands in front of her face as if to block a blow. He stepped forward anyway, moving around the barbells and placing himself directly in front of her. When he was near enough, he took her hands gently in his and pulled them away from her face, holding them between his in a tangle of calloused fingers and sweaty palms.

“It felt like I was back there,” she whispered, and it didn’t take their psychic link to see the image flashing across her mind of an abandoned orphanage, empty and not empty, filled with men with scary faces who are there one minute and gone the next. 

“Part of me knew it was only you, that we were just in the TARDIS,” she whispered, her eyes staring blankly at a spot just above his shoulder,  
“but a stronger part of me recognized you as the enemy to be eliminated by any means necessary.”

“They took a scared little girl and they trained her to be an assassin,” the Doctor said, anger boiling his blood and causing his twin hearts to pound. “You didn’t have a choice, River. It was never your fault.”

She shook her head and her eyes looked right through him, his words falling on deaf ears.

“So many years of refusing to be what they raised me to be. What was the point? They made me a killer, and I let them!”

Releasing her hands, the Doctor gripped her face between his palms and forced her to look at him. When she squeezed her eyes shut, he stared at her until she opened them again and the intensity in his gaze forced her to meet it.

“You are not that person, River. You are stronger than anyone I’ve ever met, and you have proven them wrong a hundred times. If anyone’s at fault, it’s me.”

She tensed, but he cut her off before she could refuse.

“You know it’s true better than anyone,” he said, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice. “I should have guessed they wouldn’t give up so easily at Demon’s Run. Your parents trusted me to get you back, and I failed. I deserve your hatred, Melody Pond.”

“I gave up hating you a long time ago, Doctor,” she replied, her voice quiet but firm. He knew she meant it, every word, and it was a miracle he clung to with every fiber of his being.

Slowly, gently, he relinquished his hold on her face and allowed her to stand alone. He watched as she closed her eyes and breathed in and out with the measured rhythm that comes from hours of solitary practice. He had to restrain himself from taking advantage of their psychic link to find out what she was thinking, but it was worth it when her lashes parted to reveal a familiar glint hidden in the steely gray; a light that said she had a secret, and he knew that he would do whatever it took to get to the bottom of that mystery. 

She reached out then, and the feeling of her hand in his gave the Doctor an unexpected thrill. The door to the gymnasium swung open behind them, and he took the TARDIS’ hint by pulling River gently across the threshold and down the hall.


	4. The Long Result of Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Instead of comparing diaries, they compare bodies."

The bedcovers were a mess, half on and half off the mattress after their earlier tussle. The Doctor found himself smiling as he remembered, not the reason for their current disarray, but the dozens of times before when they'd left his bed in a similar state after much pleasanter encounters. River's eyebrows rose in question, but she didn’t have to ask. Their timelines may not have been completely synced (may never be completely synced), but this Doctor and this River had shared enough that, when she pulled him down onto the bed by his collar, it felt deliciously familiar to both of them.

Instead of comparing diaries, they compare bodies. This rediscovery of one another never becomes tired because there is always something new to be found. Her hair is longer; his eyes are more creased; she has a new scar on her collar bone; his nose isn’t marked with engine grease this time.

He never fails to be surprised by how strong she is. Pushing him against the pillows, she straddled his hips with her legs and pinned him to the mattress in a dizzying exertion of dominance. For that one moment, frozen in the Time Vortex with the song of the TARDIS rising around them, he is hers and hers alone. It seemed fitting that those same lips that almost ended his life in Nazi Germany could also evoke such feelings of _life._

Her breath caught when she found the dull beginnings of bruises blossoming on his neck, spreading around his throat in the shape of her fingers.  He began to protest, murmuring words like “don't worry” and “can't even feel it” when she stopped his lips with her fingers and bent her head to kiss each purpling discoloration. The sensation stole his breath more fully than her hands at his throat ever could.

When he felt as though he could take it no longer, he reached down and drew her face up to meet his. River, so used to taking the upper hand in all things, was uncharacteristically yielding as she relaxed against him, her weight settling against him so that their faces were parallel. She fixed him with the full force of her gaze, and in her eyes were power, passion, love, desire, and a madness that drew him to the flame of her impossible attachment to him.

The press of their lips was electric, the potential for creation or destruction in the yearning that caused her to curl her body against his until there was no distinguishing one from the other. Impulsively, he grabbed her waist and tumbled with her against the soft fabric of the sheets until she was beneath him. Looking down at the startled expression on her face, he willed his thoughts into her mind.

_I may be yours, but you’re also mine. Whatever happens in your future, remember that now and always you are my River. My Melody. My wife._

A wave of psychic energy flooded his brain as her response echoed wordlessly throughout his body. Her desire for him radiated from every juncture where skin touched skin, and as he bent his head to press his mouth to hers, her lips parted and welcomed him home.

When at last he pulled away for air, he took the opportunity to explore the rest of his willing companion. He knows what she likes, his River. As his hands drifted lower, sliding over her torso and following the curve of her hips inward, he felt a sense of pride at the low, intimate sounds she made in response. A shudder rippled across her flesh from the place where his fingers held sway, and he wondered to himself how many men there were who could claim to have made River Song tremble. Her hands in his hair – just rough enough to make him pause – assured him, as easily as if she had spoken the words aloud, that he would be paid back in kind very soon.

Not for the first time, the Doctor marveled at how singularly wonderful it was to lose himself completely in someone else. The shimmer of the Time Vortex in River's bloodstream allowed him a unique connection that he hadn't felt with another person since his youth on Gallifrey, and the experience of both flesh and mind mingling brought him as much pleasure as the feeling of her callused palm tracing the contours of his chest and drawing the patterns of an ancient alphabet on his stomach.

Later, after each had spent themselves at the pleasant expense of the other, the Doctor caught River’s eyes growing heavy as she rested her head in the bend of his arm, but when he leaned over her to kiss them closed, she pressed him away and rose to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Time to go, I think.”

Though he could not see her expression, her face set resolutely towards the wall, there was bitterness and regret in her voice that he struggled to understand. They never discussed her returning to prison; it just happened, each new adventure brought to an end with a kiss and the hollow sound of metal bars clanging shut (as if they could keep her in, or him out).

“There’s room enough for two,” the Doctor said, keeping his tone light, “and I promise I don’t snore.” When she didn’t respond, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around her wrist.

“Stay,” he whispered, and the urgency in his voice made her turn, at last, to face him.

“Are you really so suicidal?” Her voice strained towards playfulness, but he was not fooled. There was fear in her eyes that did not belong there, and a fierce protectiveness surged up in his chest. The tendons in her wrist tensed beneath his fingers as she clenched the bedclothes in frustration. She hated to appear weak, he knew, and the angry tears that turned her eyes to glinting steel would be as unwelcome to her as they were terrifying and painful to him.

“River,” he breathed. “My River.”

When she showed no signs of relenting, he sighed and leaned back against the headboard. Rubbing his temples, his mind raced through a million excuses that would make it singularly impossible for her to leave. But he knew River, and she was stubborn; convinced that she was right, it would take moving the heavens and the earth to get her to bend.

_Maybe I can’t move the heavens,_ he thought suddenly, _but I can jolly well bring the heavens to her_.

“River,” he said, sitting up so suddenly that she jerked away from him in surprise. “I want to take you home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title credit goes to Alfred, Lord Tennyson and his "In Memoriam A.H.H."


	5. A Waking Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor finds the perfect way to keep his wife's nightmares at bay.

_“River,” he said, sitting up so suddenly that she jerked away from him in surprise. “I want to take you home.”_

 

The surprised look on her face was almost immediately supplanted by one of mingled disappointment and pain. Apparently unable to hide the latter, River turned her face away from the Doctor’s to nod decisively at the wall.

“I’ll set the coordinates, shall I,” she said, already pulling away from him. 

Instinctively, the Doctor knew that if River made it out of that room there was no bringing her back – not this time, anyway – and there was no way that he would let her go back to Stormcage thinking that he wanted her gone.

With a speed that belied his 900 years, the Doctor leaped from the bed and caught River by the arm. His grip was gentle but firm. “You don’t understand. I want to take you to my home. To Gallifrey. Will you let me?”

Half a dozen emotions flashed across River’s face as she considered his words, the predominant of those being incredulity. “Doctor,” she began, her voice wary, “you know that that’s impossible. Don’t you…?” 

She was used to being considered the mad one in their relationship, and it was clear that she was starting to question his sanity, too.

The Doctor chuckled despite the ache in his hearts. To go home, his real home, with his wife in hand? There was nothing he wanted more. But this wasn’t about him, and he wouldn’t allow an old man’s sentiment to get in the way of his plan.

Sliding his hand down her arm to lace his fingers in hers, he stared straight into the blinding sun of River Song’s eyes and asked, “Do you trust me?”

“Always.”

His smile was huge and genuine as he strode the short distance between them, and planted himself directly in front of her. “Close your eyes.”

The look she flashed him was quizzical and the glint in her eyes was more than a little suggestive, but she did what he asked. Breathing deeply, the Doctor rolled his shoulders back, lifted his hands to rest lightly on the sides of her face, and attempted something he hadn’t tried in centuries.

He felt goose bumps rise on River’s skin as a million, fractured images resolved themselves into one in the shared scene that he was broadcasting into her mind. Unlike the fleeting surges of emotion that their psychic link usually sent, this was something else entirely: the picture was so clear, the details so visceral, it shocked even in the Doctor with its immediacy.

Together, they walked the red grass plains and gazed up at the double moons hovering just over the orange horizon. River asked him questions as they went, her voice quiet and reverent, and the Doctor answered them as best he could. Unbound in this waking dream by the rules of gravity, they rose up and flew over the snow-topped peaks of Mount Cadon and dove into the depths of the frosty crevasses of the Never-Ending Mountains of Solace and Solitude. She made him pause in the middle of a silver forest, the mercurial leaves aglow in the light of midday suns, and when he opened his eyes for just a moment to look on her face, he saw tears running soundlessly down her cheeks.

It was harder than he had anticipated to revisit – even in memory – the halls of the Time Lord Academy, and their stop there was brief. Shifting through the endless stores of recollections tucked away in his mind, the Doctor chose one that he knew would please her and he took pride in introducing Dr. River Song, professor of archeology, to the Tomb of Rassilon. 

At first, the Doctor hadn’t noticed that River had stopped asking questions. He felt her presence in his mind, but the usually-clearly-defined borders of her psychic signature were becoming hazy. She was fighting exhaustion, he knew, and when he led her slowly towards the bed (visions of golden fields blooming with Schlenk Blossoms filling both their thoughts), she did not resist.

Lying next to her on the bed, her breathing slow and steady, the Oncoming Storm fought his wife’s demons with images of golden flowers and alien rivers. The TARDIS enveloped them both with the soft hum of an ancient, Gallifreyan ballad until finally, with one hand tangled in River’s hair and the fingers of the other entwined with hers, the Doctor too fell asleep.


End file.
